


Several Almost-Kisses

by Cookiemonster2000



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (kinda...) - Freeform, Bodyguard, Canon Compliant, Crushes, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship, Gifts, Hurt/Comfort, LET HIM KISS THE GIRL, Mutual Pining, Teamwork, Torture, War, War violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-03-13 17:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18945493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookiemonster2000/pseuds/Cookiemonster2000
Summary: . . . Or, how many times can one man fall in love with one woman?From the first meeting to the very end, every time Roy thinks he might be over Riza, she--quite unwittingly--drags him right back in.





	1. Later.

**Author's Note:**

> i just finished fma:b and HOLY SHIT!!!! I have fallen in _love_ with Roy (and Riza) and most DEFINITELY their relationship. They just work so well together. Their characters intrigued me very much, and so this fic isn't my normal style--it's more of a study to how they got to be so in-sync and some guesswork at the journey of their relationship.

Sure, she was downright cold to him when he tried to introduce himself, eyeing him with disdain and turning away from his hand as if instead of offering a handshake, he was sticking out a dead fish or something equally distasteful. But the warning glint in Riza Hawkeye's eye intrigued him more than he liked to admit.

 

Pity she seemed so uninterested. Then again, that only made things more interesting for  _ him. _

 

“Ouch,” was all he said as she retreated down the corridor after snubbing his greeting. 

 

“Don’t mind her,” her father said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “She's wary of strangers. Hasn't met many.”

 

Roy waits a moment in silence for some clarification. When it becomes clear he'll receive none, he nods.

 

“I'll try not to worry her.”

 

“Just leave her alone. She helps out around the house, but…” The man's voice trails off. Roy, who has something of a knack for reading people, senses something profoundly unsettling in the way his new teacher's hand slips back to his side, hanging there limply.

 

Well, it was an opportunity to practice obedience, at least.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

  
  
  


He intended to obey. He truly did.

 

But seeing the small girl flitting between rooms like a small bird--sweeping one minute, dusting the next--further reminded him of how he had nothing to do all day. The master was out on some day trip or other; the apprentice was  _ bored _ .

 

“Hey.”

 

So it was to be expected that he try his luck again.

 

As Riza turned to exit the doorway, she found herself blocked by an outstretched arm. Her eyes flitted upwards and landed on a face sporting a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat.

 

To her credit, she didn't yelp. She merely took a half-step backwards, almost tripping over the broom she carried, and fixed him with the same glare as when he'd first arrived.

 

“I'm trying to work.”

 

“You work all the time,” he replied easily. “Give it a rest and spend some time with me for once, why don't you?”

 

Brown eyes blinked, and narrowed. “Why would you want to spend time with me?”

 

Roy spread his arms. “What do you mean? Why wouldn't I?”

 

Riza folded her arms. “You're always coming and going. Into town, outside, back to your home in the city. If you're bored, you can just leave. You don't need  _ me _ to entertain you.”

 

“But I'm not  _ supposed  _ to leave,” he whined.

 

Her face turned from somewhat miffed to downright  _ nasty _ . A split second later, she'd ducked under his arm and was gone, stomping on his foot for good measure.

 

Cradling his injured limb and hopping on one foot, Roy realized a second too late he'd failed some sort of test.

 

* * *

  
  


Roy had tried to bear the loneliness in stoicism, but to no avail. He  _ needed  _ to have a companion here. Humans were very social creatures, and he was nothing if not human. And that was why he came to the decision:

 

Roy Mustang was going to befriend this girl even if it killed him.

 

Unfortunately, kill him it might. Every time he tried to get near her, she either found some way to escape conversation by fleeing or simply resorted to petty violence in order to get him out of her way. 

 

Sucking on the fingers she'd just crushed under a book when he'd unexpectedly thrown an arm around her shoulders in the library, Roy decided that he might be going about this the wrong way. Flirting outright usually worked with other girls, but with Riza… he shuddered.

 

Maybe it would be best if he found something else.

 

* * *

  
  
  


“What is that.”

 

He tentatively opened his squeezed-shut eyes. “It's a hawk.”

 

Riza eyed the small stone bird in his outstretched palm with disdain. “I know  _ that _ . I meant, why are you…”

 

“It's a gift.” When she didn't move away, Roy quickly pressed it into her hands and stepped back. She looked down at it, as if unsure what to make of the thing.

 

“Why?”

 

“Cause I think it's high time we started trusting each other,” he replied. “We've been living in the same stupid mansion for two months, and you haven't given me the time of the day.”

 

Her scowl deepened. “I don’t want somebody to want to be my friend just because I’m  _ here _ .”

 

“Well, you’re idealistic, aren’t you?” 

 

Riza blinked in surprise.

 

“What?”

 

“That’s how you  _ make  _ friends. You talk to the people  _ around  _ you.”

 

Roy shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets.

 

“You can wait around for somebody better to come along. Or. . .” He pointed at himself. “You can take the best you’ve got.”

 

Her mouth opened, then closed. Her grip on the stone bird tightened.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.” He allowed his slow smile to return, raising an eyebrow invitingly.

 

Riza squinted, then sighed deeply.

 

“I’m going to be in the kitchen, cooking dinner,” she said hesitantly. “If you want to... help, feel free. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind you learning practical skills.”

 

Roy felt like cheering, bounding around the mansion at top speed, jumping up on something and whooping. 

 

He allowed himself a small smile.

 

“I’ll be there, Miss Hawkeye.” 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Her mother had died when she was very young.

 

She wasn’t supposed to leave the mansion at  _ all _ .

 

She could count the number of people outside her family she had met on one hand.

 

These were the facts that Roy learned about Riza’s life during the first week after their breakthrough.

  
  


He felt somewhat guilty about the way he had acted before.

 

She admitted that she did, too.

* * *

 

Week three, Riza confided that she felt emotionally distant from her father.

 

A part of him already knew.

* * *

  
  


She listened to him babble on for hours on end. Her patience was a constant, and a comfortable one. He trusted her with all of his secrets, even those about his own future.

 

“I want to become the president of this country, when I'm old enough,” he told her one night, dark eyes glittering. “I'm going to lead our country into a new golden age.”

 

She laughed. For a second, he was hurt, until she followed it up with--

 

“How are you going to do that?”

 

It wasn't a mocking question, but a genuine one. Roy felt himself fill with pride, as if being inflated like a balloon.  _ She believed he could. _

 

“I'll learn this alchemy from your father. Then, I can become a certified state alchemist--and I'll be the most famous of them all. The flame alchemist!” He flexed his arms and made a face.

 

Riza giggled. Roy couldn't possibly feel more elated.

 

Until a moment later.

 

“And how can I help?”

  
  
  


And that was it. The snapshot seared into his mind forever:

  
  
  
  


 

This girl, her long, blond hair cascading over her shoulders in a tangled mess, leaning on her arms for support. Weary, hazelnut eyes flickering honey-gold in the candlelight. A warm smile on her beautiful face.

 

That was the moment Roy Mustang knew he was  _ royally _ screwed, because it was the moment he realized that, more than he’d ever wanted anything else, he wanted to kiss this girl.

 

And he wanted to kiss her  _ badly _ . 

 

Completely caught-off guard, he fumbled out a nervous comment about the late hour and excused himself, tripping over himself to get away from her. Stumbling to his room, flopping down on his bed, and lying there immobile in a state of total disarray, fully clothed and mind running in circles.

 

He wondered, all that night and long afterward, whether her disappointed, confused manner at his abruptly ending their evening had meant she had wanted to kiss him, too.

  
  


* * *

 

After the incident, he was a mess of feelings for a while. Roy found himself seeking out her company--not that he hadn't before, but now he saw the _danger_ in it. Never one to be put off by something like danger, he didn't let it slow him in the least.

  
  


One unfortunate night, he had a particularly memorable dream centered around her--her soft hands stroking his shoulders and back, and her hot breath whispering sweet nothings in his ear as he inhaled the scent of her hair and skin and murmured her name--and woke up feeling entirely mortified and unsure of how to face her.

 

He didn't. He skipped breakfast.

 

* * *

  
  


It got easier. Mostly.

 

The first few weeks were profoundly awkward--she was off-limits. He  _ knew  _ that. He knew that  _ she  _ knew that. She would never ask him to risk his apprenticeship just for her.

 

He wanted to. Oh, he wanted to.

  
  


But he had promised her that he would do anything to achieve his dream--even give up something dear to him, something that could be.

 

* * *

  
  


One night, he had leaned in, weakened by the moment, the hour, the feelings. She had stopped him with a finger. His eyes opened.

 

The picture must have been comical, but he felt like kicking something.

 

“I’m--I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” he stumbled.

 

But she stopped him again, the same way, with a sad little smile. “Later,” she whispered, quietly standing and exiting the room.

  
  
  


He smacked himself in the face.

  
  
  
  


 

“This isn’t goodbye, you know.”

 

He scoffed, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Of course not, I know that.”

 

Riza smiled, sadly, and offered him his suitcase. “You’re going to be amazing.”

 

The little bubble of heat in his chest cavity (that, somehow, always existed whether he was paying attention to it or not) swelled. Roy forced his face to remain neutral. He’d gotten better at that.

 

“Of course.”


	2. Brown Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The secrets of flame alchemy are passed down after the death of their original discoverer.
> 
> Riza has regrets.

“What will you do now?”

 

Roy met her eyes for the first time in a good while. Selfishly, he drank them in, memorized every detail and feature, while she stared back.

 

“Roy?”

 

“I'm going to do what I always knew I would,” he replied, shaking himself out of it. There was no time for thoughts like that now--he had a mission to carry out, a  _ goal  _ to reach. There wasn't space in his life for this, at least not now.

 

They both knew it.

 

“I'm going to try to get my state certification.” He licked his dry lips and looked away. “Then, I'll move up the ranks as best I can.”

 

“But you never… he never ended up teaching you, did he?”

 

Roy faced the headstone again. It seemed to be mocking him. Buried there was not only a man, but the secrets of his research, too.

 

The secrets he had  _ needed _ .

 

 

He gritted his teeth.

 

“I'll make do.”

 

“No.”

 

Riza took a shuddering breath.

 

“I have everything you need, right here.”

 

All of a sudden, in the deepest recesses of his mind, Roy heard the doors which had been snapped shut on him so prematurely creak open, ever-so-slightly.

 

“You don't have to--”

 

“Roy, I  _ trust  _ you.”

 

He stopped short, mouth gaping. Riza offered him a crooked smile-- _ his _ crooked smile. It was all he could do to keep from kissing her right then.

 

He satisfied himself with wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. It only took her a moment to reciprocate.

 

She was probably just startled.

 

* * *

  
  
  


When she allowed the jacket around her shoulders to fall like a curtain, revealing the marked skin of her back, he couldn’t deny that his breath caught in his throat. He’d seen women before, but not her. Never  _ her _ .

 

Riza had to take his shaking hand in hers, guiding it towards her body. He traced the crimson markings on her pale skin, with a slowness that felt worshipping rather than curious. She shivered slightly when his hand touched her shoulder blade, and he instantly retracted it, as if the symbols burned with the fire they represented.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, catching it in her own hand without turning. 

 

“It’s _not_.”

 

“Of course it’s not. But it’s still all right.” He could hear in her voice that she was trying to smile, trying to be brave despite her fears concerning this alchemy, the dangers she wished never could see the light of day.

 

How he was going to memorize these alchemic symbols when all he could focus on was the softness of her skin and the hyper awareness pulsing from the ache in his chest to the tips of his fingers that  _ hers  _ was inches away was beyond him.

 

* * *

 

 

During these sessions, Roy came the the conclusion that he loved Riza’s eyes. 

 

He had always liked them, of course. They were  _ hers _ , for God’s sake. The hazel shade of her low-lidded eyes under the dim flicker of candlelight had always captivated his gaze. 

 

But now, he was able to read her better than when they were still both children. He found himself studying her eyes: the softness of them when she was trying to keep from smiling, the hardness when she was reprimanding him, the sharpness that he was relieved she never directed at him. There was a puzzle in her face that every chance he got, he tried to piece together.

 

She was always the one to look away first--he supposed his expressions were always somewhat  _ intense _ , for lack of a better word.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I’m probably going to go to the academy, too,” she admitted.

 

If he hadn’t seen it coming, Roy’d have been quite surprised. He had a hunch she would want to follow him into the police force--his more self-centered side chose to think she was doing it all for him.

 

“Oh?” He was sure she could hear the smirk in his voice. “For what purpose? I thought for sure you were going to hunker down and become a cute little librarian.”

 

“You know me too well to think that was ever an option for me.”

 

She was wrong--once, it would have been. She could have done research for her living, and might have, too, had things been a little different. Young Riza had been soft, very soft. Wanted friends, but not allowed to venture from her home to make them. Wanted to be like her mother, but wasn’t able to learn and grow in the same way for her own “protection”. Wanted her father’s love, but he was too wrapped up in himself and his duties to give it to her.

 

She might have been a researcher. She was interested enough in history to do well in studies for it. But the life she’d led, the training she’d undergone, left her not so many choices.

 

“I’m sure you’ll excel,” Roy assured her, glancing back to his notes.

 

Riza hummed in response, said something under her breath.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?”

 

“I said I’ll have to, if I want to keep  _ your _ reckless ass safe.”

  
  
  


That was fair.

  
  
  
  


She was gone before he had time to properly get over her again, before the butterflies wore off completely. This could have been a blessing, had he let it, but Roy wallowed for a bit before he got back to work.

 

His consolation was in the knowledge that he would surely see her again. He never dreamed the circumstances would be what they were.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Roy thought, delusionally, that he would be the only one to lose his humanity at Ishval. That if he committed enough atrocities, there wouldn’t be any left for those he cared about, and they could retain a shred of their innocence. Maes and Riza, at least, deserved to stay the same--if he was sharp enough, vicious enough,  _ empty  _ enough, he would be able to spare them the same fate. This would be his purpose. He couldn’t be useless this time.

 

Roy was wrong.

 

Seeing her curled up beside the bonfire, staring into it with dead, low-lidded eyes, a part of himself had shriveled up and  _ died _ .

 

Maes, beside him, was murmuring something sorrowfully, but Roy couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The sight just wasn’t registering--it didn’t make  _ sense _ .

  
  


_ Not  _ her.  _ Anyone but  _ her.

  
  


Those eyes had never held such coldness. Riza’s eyes were sharp, and full of heat. Or, at certain moments, warm, and full of softness. 

 

So why did they look so familiar?

 

These were not the eyes of the Riza he knew. These were the eyes of a killer.

  
  


He hated these eyes. He never meant to allow this to happen to her.

  
  


He redoubled his efforts.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I want you to relieve me of my father’s burden.”

 

She didn’t say the words that weighed heavy on both of their minds:

  
  


_ This wasn’t what I wanted. _

  
  


She would never say them, of course. To imply that somehow this  _ was  _ what  _ he  _ had wanted would be a blow too painful for her to inflict. But the words were there, hanging in the air, unspoken by either.

 

The desert air was hot.

  
  
  


 

The fire he used to burn her was hotter.

  
  
  
  


 

 

She gasped out another scream, arching her back, hands clinging to the straps she’d hung there (was it only minutes before?) tears streaming down her raw cheeks, and he knew he couldn’t continue. Roy dropped to his knees beside her, shouting her name, hoarsely, desperately. Her muscles contracted and retracted and her chest rose and fell as she sobbed, unable to breathe properly but unable to do anything but inhale and exhale in shudders. His hands were on her shoulder, turning her over, and for once he didn’t have the luxury of enjoying just being near her body. Everything was twisted; it was a horror show, it was all wrong, _wrong_. He was supposed to _protect_ her, not wound her beyond any hope of healing.

 

Riza was strong. He hadn’t seen her cry for years.

 

“Why did . . . Why did you stop?” came her weak voice, breathless and heaving, and she looked at him, accusingly, terrified he would continue. “Are you done? Is it done?”

 

“I. . .”

 

He couldn’t seem to spit the lie out of his mouth--it was far from done. A few bits of the mark were covered but not nearly enough to protect that accursed research from being decoded, blanks filled in, passed down once more. Her hand reached up and brushed his face. Roy fell backwards, too aware of his sheer  _unworthiness_ of her touch.

 

Her fingers glistened, and he realized he was crying. When had he begun?

 

“I can’t.”

 

 

His voice was as broken as he felt. For once, he couldn't possibly pretend.

 

 

Slowly, she brought her--strong, frail--arms up around his shoulders, and he buried his head in her hair, body wracking itself with his sobs, and he cried not just because he couldn’t--no,  _ wouldn’t _ \--lay another finger on her and she  _ needed  _ him to, and he had  _ failed  _ her, but because she was the one doing the comforting when he should be stronger, he should be cradling her in his arms, not the other way around.

  
  
  


When she pulled away, her eyes weren’t soft with affection, weren’t dulled from death, but shattered, full of everything hot and weak and strong and cold and he wondered if they would  _ ever  _ be able to find a new normal after this.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter should be pretty calm, and deal with the in-canon royai we all know and love. Let me know if there are any specific scenes you'd like to see included/nodded to/etc, and I'll see what I can do ;)))


	3. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She shows up in his life again.
> 
> He stops caring much about what people know. Let them think what they want. They aren't wrong, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Some of the information in this chapter miiiight not be perfectly accurate (I'm not an expert on the way the military works haha), but I hope you can forgive that.  
> Sorry this chapter is a bit late. I'm rewatching the series, so next chapter should be part two of in-canon events. I forgot how pretty Riza Hawkeye's smile is <3333  
> (also prepare for a tad bit of spiciness in this one, heheheh)

In a very Roy-like fashion, he put off reading the short list of names of the new officers assigned to work directly under him.

 

So he was caught off-guard when she slammed down a stack of papers on his desk.

 

“Hawkeye?” he gasped.

 

She smiled, and he felt his stupid heart skip a beat.

 

“Nice to see you again, sir.”

 

  
  


The new normal was good, better than anything they’d shared before. They fell easily (momentarily, almost) into their same old rhythm. Despite her seemingly formal facial expressions (or lack thereof), Roy had learned long ago how to read every twitch of her mouth, every smile in her eyes. Even as the others shied away from her forbidding, stony manner, he found himself comfortable in her presence. 

 

Let them whisper about her strictness. The rumors about her being his nanny only made it easier.

  


 

He quickly learned not to make eyes at her during work--that is, he learned how to disguise his frequent glances as disinterested, even annoyed.

 

She saw through him, of course.

 

But _she_ wasn't who he was performing for.

  
  


Anytime he felt unsure--the fear still flitted by at times--one half glance backwards towards her was enough to bring him back to his normal self. She would be at his back, no matter what.

 

He got used to it, but never over it.

  
  


More than anything, they were compatible.

 

The two of them were more in-sync than any other team in Eastern Command. 

 

To bystanders, they seemed shockingly similar-- cold expressions, devastatingly powerful attacks, two pillars of silent strength.

 

To those significantly closer, it seemed a miracle they could work together at all. Roy's coldness during "work" was a facade, concealing his laughter and hotheaded temper. Only occasionally did he let his deep-seated, uncontrollable fury slip during missions.

 

When he did, Riza Hawkeye was there, directly behind him. What exactly was the nature of their relationship? Why was she ever-present? Did she exist simply to rein in the Colonel in his anger, to talk him down? If so, she was frighteningly good at her role; her mere presence was usually enough to calm him.

 

A quick eye could catch that the cause of his shoulders sudden relaxation was a brush of her hand to his arm or back, or simply a stern look thrown his way.

 

Riza herself was nearly as formidable a figure as her superior. Her own coldness carried over into her day to day life, and a mere sideways glance from her sharp brown eyes could frighten new recruits and experienced soldiers alike. Not least because most knew who she was loyal to.

 

Anyone who had worked with Roy a single time knew that _no one_ was allowed to touch his subordinates. He protected them, on the battlefield and off of it. Even Fuery, who occasionally received dismissive looks of others, recalled a time when the Lieutenant helped him out in his own way--which was, in the moment, to give him a somewhat dangerous, unpleasant assignment which, in the end, earned him the respect from his peers.

 

Lieutenant-Colonel Mustang seemed a fool at times, but he was clever and thoughtful when he made up his mind to be. Which happened to be most times.

  


 

Still, only a few understood the most important aspects of Roy and Riza. Few understood the depths to which Roy's loyalty ran towards those he cared. Fewer still had seen glimpses of Riza's sweetness, her compassion in its purest form. 

 

Roy had caught more than a glimpse of it when they first found the Elric brothers. He had focused on the boy, Edward--letting him know about the rules of State Alchemy, and the extent of the opportunity that awaited him there. But in the corner of his mind, the part of him that was always keeping an eye on her was noting the way she was speaking to the young girl.

 

She must have been scared out of her mind to find her friends in such terrible shape, but she was talking to Riza--if not like nothing was wrong, as if she could handle it like an adult. And Hawkeye was responding kindly, softly, in a way she never could if any other military happened to be in the room.

 

On their way back, he reflected on the handshake the little girl had offered Riza when they left.

 

The soldier's face had lit up, and she had accepted it without hesitation.

 

“I hope we meet again someday.”

 

And Roy looked over the hills and across the pale blue skyline and swore, again, that he would _never_ cross that line. That he would keep moving forward, keep protecting those he could, and protect himself from becoming the monster he could see himself becoming far too easily. Not for himself, but for them.

 

The girl didn’t like soldiers, but she had never met his subordinate.

 

* * *

  


“How do you feel about this killer?”

 

Roy looked up in surprise.

 

“Lieutenant. I didn’t hear you walk over.”

 

Riza Hawkeye's eyes were closed off. He didn't like the deadness in her expression, it reminded him too much of things he wanted to forget.

 

“Colonel, you’re staring daggers at your desk. I don’t suppose any _less_ work is getting done than usual?”

 

He sighed and ran a hand through his haggard hair. “No, I don’t suppose it is. What did you ask me?”

 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear. This killer. Now that we know he’s Ishvalen. . . do you feel any different?”

 

Roy studied her expression. It had changed; there was something simmering there, just out of sight. She was making an effort not to show it, but she was clearly quite worried.

 

About _him_.

 

“No need to get so worked up, I’m fine.” He stretched, and leaned forwards. “Someone might get the impression that you care.”

 

“Goodnight, sir.” Riza turned on her heel and headed for the door.

 

“What?” He sat up immediately, feeling as if he was doused in ice water “Leaving already?”

 

“It’s nine o’ clock, sir.” With a start, Roy realized the light from the window behind him had faded into darkness. He looked back at the woman in the doorway, whose face shone with unmistakable regret. 

 

“Looks like we both lost track of time.”

 

* * *

  
  


"Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I don't even own a flower vase."

 

 _Liar_ , he wanted to say. I've given you plenty of flower arrangements with vases included. But no, those weren't from Roy Mustang, they were from _a friend_ . _An admirer,_ when he was feeling particularly daring. Or when he was drunk.

 

Was she was daring him to own up? He almost did, just because he was _that_ desperate to get rid of this pile he'd been strong-armed (no pun intended) into buying that filled his car.

 

But that would hardly do.

  


* * *

  
  


Roy had had too much to drink again, and she must’ve had _some_ , because Riza let him get as far as touching her hand, her bare shoulder, her hair. He breathed in her scent, doubly intoxicated by her proximity, as his hands shook ever so slightly and his knees threatened to buckle under him. 

 

Her hands came up and stopped, as if they didn’t know where to go or what to do. He pulled her closer to him--he could feel her warmth, under her dress, as it pressed up against his suit, and he was very aware of the way her eyelids were drooping and she was leaning towards him, angling her head upwards ever-so-slightly. A swoop in his gut--anticipation? fear?--but he didn’t let himself move. Or breathe. He’d pulled her this close, the rest of the movements were up to her, but whatever she did, he wouldn’t be able to complain.

 

His hands rested heavy on her body--one on her shoulder, touching a bit of her soft wheat-colored hair that was brushed over, and one on the small of her back, itching to go lower but not daring to move an inch.

 

She stopped, a breath away from his face.

 

He closed his eyes, because he didn't want to look at her as she opened her mouth and reprimanded him, here, now, of all places, but all that she said, to his closed-off face, was

 

“You know we can't.”

 

“I wonder,” he snapped, as she slipped out of his arms like a shadow for the hundredth, thousandth, _millionth_ time, “if we'll _ever_ be able to.”

 

It was a mistake, but he looked at her again. She looked good, too good in that dress. Roy vaguely recalled that's why he began drinking in the first place, and regretfully folded his hands in front of him. Instantly, the feeling of his awkward teenage years washed over him, and he cringed deeply.

 

The woman's eyes seemed to bore into him, and he sweated.

 

Her mouth twitched into a frown. Any onlooker would read Riza Hawkeye’s face as properly stern--reprimanding, even.

 

But Roy had been reading those eyes for ten years, and those eyes were begging him, warning him not to step any closer, because she knew she wouldn't be able to control herself if he did, either.

 

Neither of them was in the mood for _the laters_.

 

"There's no way of knowing, sir."

  
  


He took a cab home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Do you want to have a say in the fics I work on and when? Would you like to read new chapters early?
> 
> Look no further than [my patreon, where you can vote on monthly polls and donate!](https://www.patreon.com/thecookieshop/posts) Even a monthly donation of _$_ 1 gets you early access. It would also be lovely if you could [vote on this poll](https://www.patreon.com/posts/august-fan-29121148)\--although the technical winner has been decided already, I need to know people are actually interested in this fic. It helps a lot!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! :) Have a lovely day!


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